


Mistletoe

by SerpentineJ



Series: Olicolm: 25 Days of OTP [7]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: I'm getting caught up, M/M, have a long one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7. Mistletoe. *eyebrow wiggle* Olicolm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Drunk shenanigans. And first kiss. Because I can’t resist. (Taking a break from the established relationship fluff for some proper shyness and get-together fluff.)

**7\. Mistletoe. *eyebrow wiggle***

Malcolm scowls around the room, a half-drunk scotch in hand. His temples throb and the Christmas carols blaring from the speakers in the corner of the office don’t help matters; people are raucously chattering and shouting, lights flash at the edges of his vision, and he wishes he could just go home.

At least it’s quiet.

“And why are you sulking in the corner on this lovely evening?” Julius sidles up beside him, eyebrows raised innocuously and a wine glass between his fingers. 

Tucker wants to punch him in the face. “Shut it, you bald fucking… radish.”

“Radish?” Nicholson chuckles. “How much of that scotch have you had?”

The silver-haired man rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his drink. “Obviously too fucking much, if I’m still standing here talking to you.”

“Rude.” There’s no real hurt in Julius’s voice. Malcolm snorts. 

~~~~~~

Ollie laughs and sets down his beer, only slightly tipsy. 

“Say, Ollie, are you going to make a move tonight?” His friend snickers, nudging him on the shoulder with an elbow. “Mister grouchy-grey is looking awfully lonely over there.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rob.” He hisses. “You’re the only one who knows about… this.”

Robert snorts. “Good. You’d be the laughingstock of the department otherwise.”

~~~~~~

The night wears on and the attendees of the party begin to get increasingly inebriated, Glen stumbling around after a sifter too many of brandy, and Ollie is pleasantly buzzed, giggling at his friends’ slightly slurred jokes.

On the other side of the room Malcolm has taken up people watching, tired of socializing and still sipping from his scotch, though he has had a couple already. 

“’ey? Malc?” Jamie chums over, grinning through his bourbon, Scottish accent even thicker than usual through the haze of alcohol. Tucker lets out a small smile at seeing his old friend so relaxed. “What’r you doin’ over here?”

He takes another draft from his tumbler, wincing as the amber liquid scorches his throat and burns his nose, and says, “Watching. Drunk fuckers.”

“H’ve you seen?” The shorter Scot chuckles, leaning towards the other man and pointing. “Ben’s made’a complete prat of‘imself, falling on ‘is arse, and Ollie’s putting the moves on a young twat from Economics.”

“A-what?” 

Jamie leans against the wall, grinning. “Yup. The tall bloke with the glasses and the blue eyes.” He smirks, and Tucker is suddenly uncomfortable at the knowing gleam in his eyes. 

“And why would that fucking matter to me?” Malcolm scowls and drains back the rest of his scotch. 

The other raises his eyebrows, relaxed from the drink, limbs long and lanky, but doesn’t say anything.

~~~~~~

Ollie has been wandering around the room, slowly making his way to the snack table, and finds himself munching on a handful of pretzels. 

There’s a sudden cheer, whoops and whistles sounding through the room, and he looks up to see Glen and Robyn trapped under the mistletoe Rob had hung to the side of the dance floor as a joke; he’s laughing, wolf whistling and clapping. Reeder rolls his eyes. 

Although…

His thoughts take a plotting turn as a blushing Glen gingerly pecks a furiously pink Robyn on the lips. 

~~~~~~

When he asks a very tipsy Jamie for assistance in setting his plan in motion, the only answer he receives is a drunk chuckle and a slap on the back.

“Er. Jamie?” Ollie prods him on the shoulder. “Exactly how smashed are you?”

The other scoffs. “Tch. ‘m fine.” Turning ‘round, he says over his shoulder, “Hope y’re ready f’r this. ‘Ey, Malc!” the Scot shouts, stumbling, leaning against the table. “C’mere for a sec.”

“What do you want?” According to plan, Malcolm begins to make his way over, rolling his eyes. Ollie ambles in his general direction, carefully planning their trajectories so they smacked into each other exactly so-

Jamie is the first to clap.

~~~~~~

“What?” Malcolm frowns. “Watch where you’re going, you fucking oaf.”

“Er. Malcolm…” Ollie is staring upwards.

The other looks up. “What- oh, fuck me.”

“Uh.”

Tucker tries to walk away but is shoved back by a giggling Jamie (and how much has he had to drink?). “C’mon, Malc, be a sport!”

“Jesus christ, Jamie.”

“Er.”

Before Malcolm can make another move, say another word, Ollie leans down and kisses him.

He freezes.

It can’t last for more than a second, just a quick contact of their lips, but it’s enough to send the room into an uproar. Jamie is laughing so hard he’s doubled over, clutching his stomach, nearly crying with mirth. Rob is standing with his hand over his mouth, shock and glee in his eyes, shoulders shaking. 

Before Malcolm can do anything but blink, Ollie is gone, disappeared in the crowd.

~~~~~~

“What the fuck?”

Ollie is sitting on the roof, legs dangling off the edge. He turns ‘round to see Malcolm, arms crossed and a thunderous frown on his face, and gets up, hopping off the sill. If Malcolm decides to kill him, he reflects, he should make it a little more difficult than setting up his own murder by seating himself on the top of a three-story building. “What?”

Tucker stalks closer and Reeder can see something malicious in his eyes. “What the fuck was that? Do you know how long it took to fucking track you down?”

“Now, Malcolm, if you’re going to kill me, I’d just like to say-“

"You think that was a fucking kiss?"

They’re practically nose-to-nose and Ollie is convinced Malcolm’s going to kill him; he has just embarrassed him in front of his entire staff, so it seems justified, he thinks. 

So it takes him completely by surprise when Tucker grabs him by the tie and pulls him down, attacking his lips with a fervor, and after a moment’s surprise he moans and melts into the kiss.

They part after a moment and Ollie is pressed against an idle air conditioning unit, panting and flushed, eyes wide, and breathes, “Okay.”

“Shut it.”

He’s grinning like a fool, and kisses Tucker on the cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: So I think I'm one behind, so hopefully i'll get the next one out by tonight.


End file.
